Only Human
by zolduck
Summary: I can't really explain much without giving it away. But, this is a sad fanfiction. You have been warned.


"Good morning, Frog." A spiteful nickname, but said with a tone of care and comfort. Arthur smiled, plate of charred toast on a tray that had the words 'Cher' written in an arc, with a heart around it in hand. This tray had been around for many years now, and had been Francis' gift to Arthur on his birthday when they had first started dating, along with a wonderful mug that had the instructions to making the perfect cup of tea written and illustrated along the side. It may not have been the most extravagant gift Arthur had been given, but it still found its way into his list of favourite belongings; along with his kettle. "Are you feeling better?" Waiting a few seconds for a response, but not receiving one, he shakes his head. "Never mind, save your strength." He placed the tray on his own side of the bed, so Francis could reach the 'food' easier. "You can eat that whenever you feel like it. I'll leave it there for you." With a laugh, one that was attempting to reassure himself, Arthur left the room, radiant while facing the bed, but gloom clouding his face as soon as he turned away. He returned downstairs and set out to clear up the mess he had made earlier, while preparing his gourmet toast. He had used the grill, and there were many discarded slices of toast, or bread-shaped pieces of charcoal, strewn around the kitchen. Arthur had also rummaged through the pile of trays they had stacked in a cupboard, to find the one that would make Francis the happiest, so they were littering the kitchen also. He looked around at the catastrophe he had left behind, and thought momentarily of Alfred. Bloody hell, how annoying he was. Arthur collected the charcoal-toast and put each piece into the bin, instantly mourning each slice. He loathed wasting food; but he would never eat all of this.

After the toast was cleaned up, he tied up the now full bin bag, and set it down outside. He then went to the sink, and filled the washing up bowl with warm water and washing up liquid. He gathered a few empty cups, once holding tea- obviously. The cups now being placed into the water, and then being left to soak; probably not the best idea, he returned upstairs and picked up the tray that held the untouched breakfast he had prepared for Francis earlier. "You've not eaten anything again... I'm at my wit's end with you!" The short laugh, coupled with the bright smile would've been the perfect recipe for a lighthearted, and warm atmosphere; yet the mood was so oppressive and dark it had no effect at all. "I'll go and get some more medicine for you, okay? It doesn't seem to be doing much, but I'm sure it's helping in some way." And with that, he, with slumped shoulders, quickly exited the room. He placed the tray on the kitchen counter, and glanced toward the cup-filled sink. He'd finish when he returned. Arthur shrugged on his coat, a dark green affair with a large collar and a belt which he never tied up, and kicked his slippers off of his feet only to swap them for smarter, polished and pointy-toed shoes. His hand hovered over his car keys, but his hand fell to his side again. The walk would do him good. He reached for his scarf, wrapping it around his neck with a sigh. He didn't usually have to put on his scarf, it was usually tied up for him... And he wouldn't be getting a kiss on the nose this time, either. He took a deep, shallow breath; perhaps an attempt to keep the tears at bay, and opened the front door. "I'll be back soon!" He called out, expecting a reply- but, alas, there wasn't one. Arthur heaved a heavy sigh, pushing open the front door and shutting it behind him. His hands were thrust into his pockets almost instantly, and he buried his mouth and nose into his scarf. He could feel the deathly cold gnawing at his ears, and the exposed part of his face. He should've worn a hat, in retrospect. Bollocks.

The walk wasn't a particularly long one: a fifteen minute stroll on mostly flat ground, but it was certainly long enough for Arthur to think about what else he needed to get. He was going to buy some more bread, for one.

Arthur first went into the pharmacy, a type of shop that felt like it was wiped down with antibacterial wipes at regular intervals. The woman behind the counter seemed unhappy to be there- understandable, seeing as she was surrounded by ill people all the time. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, and had half of it tied into a bun behind her head. Francis. Arthur purchased countless boxes of tablets and bottles of liquid. Arthur read through the names on the boxes in his head. Prozac, Cipramil, Seroxat, Lustral, Cymbalta, Yentreve, Efexor, and other ridiculous-sounding names. He'd left the pharmacy with his bag of medication being held so tightly his knuckles were turning white, and now had to make the trip to the corner shop to buy groceries and the like. The corner shop was a bit further into town, and involved another walk, this one only being a five minute uphill though. Arthur arrived there quite red in the face, and pushed open the door with his free hand.

Once inside the shop, one of those quaint family-run corner shops, Arthur gathered up the necessary items: bread, milk, and a bar of chocolate. Yes, the bar of chocolate was necessary. He paid for and took his items, and gave a half-hearted wave and smile when the man behind the counter said "Have a nice day, sir!", scratching at his stubble all the while. Francis...

After his departure, he took a step forward in the direction he would be walking in to return home. Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, and looked over at a brightly coloured stall placed conveniently across the road that had a hand-painted, and seemed to be freshly lacquered, sign. 'Flowers!' was the only text on the sign. How very inventive. Arthur shook his head in disappointment. But, the flowers did look quite beautiful, if that could be any consolation for the discouraging name. He resolved to buy a bouquet for Francis- flowers were supposed to make people feel better, were they not? After crossing the road and looking both ways, safety was indeed an important thing, he tapped the woman working at the stall on the shoulder and cleared his throat. "Uh-huh?" She spun around, already with a warm smile on her face. Her eyes drifted to the profile of her new patron, almost sparkling. Her eyes were a splash of azure, with specs of deep purple, lilac and sky blue dotted around. ... Francis... "Can I help, mister?" She wasn't experienced in retail. "Yes..." His eyes darted around the packed cart. Jesus, was every single flower here?! Even those that only grew in summer were on the cart, miraculously, and he wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste. "Yes... Um..." He wracked his brain for flower meanings, before saying, "Can you put together a bouquet of white carnations, lilacs, and yellow tulips? The colours are extremely important." "Sure!" She said with a grin, expertly picking out the flowers, and arranging them in an incredibly artistic way. "Thanks." He pressed a £5 note into her hand and began to walk off. "Oh, no, I don't need this much-" she began, but was cut off. "Keep it, it's fine."

Clutching his flowers, in their plastic wrap, sealed with a ribbon, and a lot of sellotape, and his two bags two bags slung over his arm: one filled with groceries and the other with drugs, he begins the walk home.

Bags being shifted around regularly and flowers tightly grasped, he pressed on, although his pace had been reduced to that of a tired teenager walking home from school by now. The silence of the world around him was quite relaxing. Dead quiet, with the exception of a click or slam of a car door, or the whir of a car speeding on by. Cars really were noisy things.

Arthur took a small detour from his usual route, the one he took earlier that day, to pay a small visit to someone that he hadn't been spoken to by for a while. Upon entering the vast area of grass and stones, Arthur intricately weaved himself in and out of the stones, adorned by ornaments, until he reached a very special stone. A stone placed all too recently, a stone commemorating a tragedy, a stone that was so special, so pure and perfect that it brought a tear to Arthur's eye.

Francis' gravestone.


End file.
